The Doctor & The Soldier
by minerrvas
Summary: "Abby tries to keep her stoic mask up, but she hopes that, by just staring at him for that long and holding on, he understands."
1. Beginning

**1: Beginning**

 **Set in 2x16.**

The rope around his wrists cuts into his skin, mostly because the terror and panic in his mind don't allow Marcus to do anything but trying to wriggle free, violently. Something tells him it's not the rope restraining his emotion-fuelled actions, but Cage Wallace. The young man with the ugly upper lip is standing between him and the very table the person most important to him is lying on. His eyes resemble stones in their hardness and, deep down, Marcus knows trying a diplomatic approach, hysterically offering bone marrow donations, is futile.

He doesn't let the words fail him, keeps on trying, for _Abby_ , until her skin is broken by the drilling. Her screams shut him up – in the end, they are loud enough for the both of them.

The volume of her pain affects him and hurts him in a way not even the cruelest knife could. Does Wallace realize that, by torturing her, he's also torturing _him_? That her pain is his pain? In the time recently past, the doctor and the soldier have formed an invisible bond, a rather _strong_ one, climbing over any boundaries they had set for themselves before (on the Ark, that is). Descending onto the ground was some sort of breakthrough for not only the Skypeople, but also for whatever has held the two of them together so far – in physical proximity as well as mental.

Their past disagreements are given a proper burial in this very moment, for when it is about a life in danger of dying, just like a star, Marcus basically doesn't give a _shit_ about trivial things like partners playing at enemies.

He just hopes that today won't give him reason to plan _Abby's_ burial. (Whether Wallace would let him have that last honour is to be doubted. Marcus is rather sure spitting on his face is the only honour the man would gift him with and possibly killing the soldier along with his doctor companion. The scenario sounds, ridiculously, _bizarrely_ so, like a mere video game.)

It is when Abby's screams become barely an echo in his head, when she becomes silent and her body still, that Marcus, partially numb from the horror transpiring in front of him, feels his chest contract and his heart miss a beat. _No_ –

Desperate relief floods his every vein as he spies her deep, brown eyes remaining open and ever so slightly moving. _Weak and so very tired, but alive,_ he thinks, trying to alleviate both of their pains somehow by trying to share it, divide it… Marcus also tries to catch her gaze, but a river of tears rolling down to Abby's ear is the only response he gets.

Thankfully, things occur relatively quickly after that. Marcus can only calm his breath after removing the straps from Abby's skin – her material ties are gone, but her physical, inner ones remain, hence he is forced to watch her struggle with regaining control of herself, step by step, blink by blink. If even _this_ is painful for him, how much more so must it be for her? Even so, his hands are always there to guide her, help her, as she slowly, with short breaths and stiff gasps, rises from the metal.

He makes to steady her injured leg with his hands as their gazes meet – brown on brown, pain on pain, key to lock. They just fit. (Marcus tries not to think about the empty holes that are Abby's eyes, the lack of expression, the pure exhaustion, tries not to think about the way the bags under her eyes look almost _burnt_ from her tears. He tries not to think about the fact that _only a little more_ would have robbed her eyes of their shine permanently, either.)

* * *

They are on their way back to Camp Jaha, and Abby still is exhausted beyond imagination, as if there's a weight resting on her body just _waiting_ for her to fall asleep so it can finish her off once and for all. (She _wants_ to sleep, in fact, but she refuses. She just refuses.) Also, she feels like her leg, numb yet buzzing with pain and fire, has made her redefine the saying " _burning like hell"_ for herself. If Mount Weather just hadn't _been_ , she's almost sure that she would have told everyone asking her "how she's doing" to _go to hell_. Alas, she doesn't even have the strength to put a mask in front of her physical misery.

It's a silly and meaningless comfort, thinking about wordplays and jokes in her situation, but soon, as they are nearing the entrance to the camp, she finds a far better warmth in simply holding Marcus Kane's hand.

The only thing Abby has touched voluntarily on the journey home is his hand. She doesn't only _touch_ it, either. She holds it tight and grips it like it's her lifeline. In a, perhaps not so insignificant, way it is just that. Following their hands' touch are their eyes' connection, and when they walk through beneath the " _Camp Jaha"_ sign, something in the air between them changes; their hands adjust to each other until every finger has found its perfect gap; his eyes become the warmest she's ever seen them once they find hers– It feels like a new _beginning_ , a hope for a new home.

Abby tries to keep her stoic mask up, but she hopes that, by just staring at him for _that_ long and _holding on_ , he _understands_.


	2. Restless

_This is, quite literally, the fluffiest thing I've ever written. (Like a blanket. I like fluffy blankets.)_

* * *

 **2: Restless**

 **Set before 3x01.**

Light is shining through the one window in the war room. Neither is it a bright light nor does it possess the unique yellow hue of the sun. It is night, hence the moon is, very slowly, making its way across the black of the sky. It is strange, seeing the moon from this perspective. Seeing the sky from beneath, in different shades even. It is strange, not being a _part_ of the sky anymore.

Marcus, carrying a light brown, fluffy blanket (the fluffiest he has been able to attain), stealthily strides across the room, careful to let his steps be as light as those of an experienced thief. Once he's reached his destination – the couch, or rather one Abby Griffin lying on it, lost in deep slumber – he gently lays it atop the resting form of his friend. She doesn't stir at all, save for the calm rise and fall of her chest, but she should feel warmer now in any case. _Warmth is the bane of nightmares,_ Marcus remembers his mother saying. Her words are only half true, however.

There is sleeping warm, and then there's not sleeping at all. Either keeps the nightmares at bay.

Right now, Marcus is settling for the second option. It's not because he doesn't _want_ to sleep – he's used to night terrors, he knows he needs to face them, needs to face his sins – but it's rather because he _can't_ and is restless beyond limits.

It's ironic how Abby and him have exchanged their cards in the last days. He sits down next to her – it's awkward, somehow, with her lightly snoring, head lazily tipped to the side, and him wide awake, staring at her closed eyelids as if he's waiting for her to wake up so they can chit-chat and gossip about the latest events – and after some seconds, a feeling of familiarity streams through his veins. He remembers waking up on the very same place the sleeping beauty– _Abby_ is currently occupying, more than once, having demanded sleep at unusual times because Arkadia had demand of _him_ on truly usual occasions.

He wonders if Abby just waited for him to fall into a natural sleeping rhythm again before allowing herself to crash on the couch herself. (He pretended to be asleep earlier, for her sake.) She hasn't slept in nearly three days – high time to set duties aside for _herself._

Though Marcus knows sleep will not visit him tonight, he carefully adjusts his limbs to achieve a comfortable position next to Abby. It doesn't take long for his gaze to be drawn to the shining of the stars and away from her eyelashes. He takes his time to admire their elegance (he has plenty of time, after all, and work can wait until just before dawn), losing himself in them. Somehow, after an irrelevant river of thoughts, he ends up comparing the stars with Abby.

The conclusion is obvious and simple: The stars, to him, at least, are more beautiful when viewed from afar, and also symbolize hope, which can be found even in darkness. Abby doesn't symbolize hope. She _is_ hope. (Nevermind that her beauty becomes more radiant the nearer you get.)

Marcus coyly smiles to himself. To utilize such a universal term on but a single human is like calling the stars "small" just because they're far away from the Earth – stupidity. But, right now, in the quiet of the dark (ignoring Abby's snoring), he doesn't mind being stupid. People in love aren't rarely called _fools_ for nothing, after all.

* * *

Abby wakes up to the sun kissing her face. Her mind is still drowsy from a, for once, dreamless night and her mouth has that vile _morning_ taste in it, but she can at least conclude that she feels rather rested and warm. Her eyes are too busy blinking away the slumber, but her hands and part of her neck notice the blanket hugging her body anyway. _So fluffy,_ she thinks, comfortable.

"Good morning." Is that her imagination or does Marcus Kane's voice sound _teasing?_ "Did you sleep well?"

"In fact, I did. Thank you," Abby responds, looking up to see him editing the Sector map with an edding across the room, a small smile plastered on his lips. (That beard will apparently never stop growing, but… She doesn't mind.) She slightly lifts the blanket with her hands, which are hidden beneath it, raising a questioning eyebrow at him. His nod appeases her, and she hugs the fluffy material to her body again, content to let the _Thank you_ stand for both his question and the warmth he has given her tonight.

"I'm glad you were able to catch some sleep," he remarks, breaking their gaze and continuing to slide the edding across the map like a painter would with their brush. _He makes strategy look like art,_ Abby can't help but think. "You looked rather exhausted in the last few days."

"As if I haven't noticed that," she retaliates tiredly, rubbing her eyes. More awake now after pulling her fingers away, she lifts her gaze, eyeing Marcus suspiciously. "You look tired. Did you wake up during the night?"

"Yes, but it's nothing fatal." He shakes his head absent-mindedly. "Now we don't have so much work to do anymore, at least."

She sighs, although she can see his point. Soon, her feet carry her across the room to where Marcus is standing, still painting, and lets the blanket she has taken with her hug his neck, so that it hangs down to his stomach with both ends.

"You can't do your work properly without sleep," Abby admonishes, her hand resting on his upper back as she looks into his brown eyes, which are momentarily taken off the map. Though her tone is strict, there is a light joy in her eyes, and it is with a secure smile that she leaves the room a moment after.

" _You_ tell me that?" he calls after her, with the same teasing tone he welcomed her with into the day, not knowing if she hears. A grin spreads over his features, and his hand feels lighter while working with the edding.

He doesn't ever tell her that, _yes,_ he indeed was able to work properly at the time of dawn _thanks to her._ (He doesn't ever tell her that, _yes,_ he in fact was able to fall asleep during the night and thereafter woke up with the sleeping beauty, the snoring Abby, in his arms.)


	3. Snowflake

_I meant to post something yesterday, but I didn't, and now you got yourself a longer chapter, congrats! Consider the possibilty of OOCness… I just really wanted to write this, okay? Abby/Raven friendship included._

* * *

 **3: Snowflake**

 **Set in a peaceful winter.**

When winter comes, Arkadia is prepared. Yet, when a blanket of pure white bedecks the ground and fragile snowflakes suddenly accompany the cool wind lightly blowing across the landscape, nobody can hide their astonishment at experiencing something so _natural_. Living with seasons does have its downs, and it takes time and hard work to balance them out, but _snow_ – It feels like the very thing they all descended onto the Earth for.

Abby, enjoying her lunch break with her gloves gripping a steaming mug of _real_ tea – she constantly marvels at how far Arkadia has come, right now in regards to the tailors in camp and the Earth's herbs – is standing outside medical and watching the people go about their day, strolling through the snow. The blanket isn't too high – one can still walk without becoming stuck or falling – but the snow makes sure one doesn't underappreciate their feet's efforts to step forward and forward. The doctor's heart goes out to those having to work outside today. The medical tent, though still noticeably chilly, has been fixed by the mechanics to be the warmest place in camp, for obvious reasons.

A content glimmer enters her dark brown eyes as Abby lets her gaze wander. _Snow is inefficient,_ she has determined so far, _but also beautiful._ Not knowing what to do with that observation, she shakes her head before taking some deep, hot sips from her mug. (The mug is white and plain and would be cold as well if there were no hot tea swimming in it.) She feels… calm while the liquid begins to warm her insides. There is a moving crowd in front of her, with some people greeting her in passing before fusing into the muss again, and she feels _calm_.

Arkadia isn't about to face another impending doom, so why not?

Abby turns around, left hand cupping the half-full mug while the other pushes aside the flap to enter the tent– And impending doom hits her straight in the back. Literally. In the form of a… (She twists her right hand to feel along the backside of her coat.) ...Snowball?

 _Snowball._

The woman turns around yet again, and Raven Reyes's eyes lock with hers. The latter's playful and provoking stare clashes with that of Abby Griffin, which screams _war_.

* * *

Marcus Kane is enjoying his lunch break by taking a _nap_ in the peace room (he was the one to come up with the idea for a name change) as Bellamy storms in. The Chancellor, having jerked up from his chair in a matter of split seconds, is still forcefully rubbing the sleep from his eyes as the younger man begins to speak.

"There is a commotion near the medical tent, Sir. I thought you would be the one best equipped to… diffuse the situation," Bellamy announces, his tilted head of locks accompanying the hesitance of his words.

"Commotion? What– Why are you smiling?"

"Oh, I'm not smiling, Sir," the man opposite counters, still smiling. "But you should really come see for yourself."

Once out in the cold and white open, Marcus regrets having woken up at all. It isn't an actual commotion disturbing the flow of the day, but rather a _lack_ of it. The snowy ground in front of the medical tent has been abandoned by all human souls but two, currently out of sight, apparently seeking cover from the random, rapid snowballs flying through the air. He fails to put his brain behind the situation.

"Two… adults are responsible for this," Marcus states, rather flabbergasted, more to himself than the man standing next to him.

"Yes, Sir. Raven Reyes appears to have started it," Bellamy confirms, fixed to the Chancellor's side like a shadow.

 _But Abby…_ he begins to think, just as the woman in question emerges from behind a crate in front of medical, throwing two snowballs at the side her opponent in rapid succession. Her aim isn't perfect, hence Raven takes hold of the chance by its head and runs forward, seeking cover nearer to Abby's position, leaving her more exposed in return. _...is more mature than this? Apparently not._

Marcus sees no ending to this childish romp anytime soon, at least there won't be if he doesn't intervene in the next few moments. People have to take detours because of this – it simply cannot stand. (Unconsciously, he's taken joy in analyzing the two participants' odds. Abby's aim is in dire need of improving, but at least her position behind the big crates leaves her at a strategical and defensive advantage, whereas Raven has no doubt more experience in this sort of game – her snowballs are boldly, yet precisely thrown. It's strategy against skill.)

Marcus decides to jog up to Abby and her crates, leaving Bellamy behind. He knows for sure she will listen to reason more willingly than her engineer friend, watching the latter during his stride – Raven seems to have ceased with the snowballs for the moment, likely because _he_ has entered the playing ground.

Abby's cheeks and nose are red from the cold and her gloves and hair inhabit serious amounts of snow as Marcus takes her in properly for the first time this afternoon, crouching behind supply crates. There is an abandoned mug on the snow next to her – the liquid inside must be cold already.

"Abby," he begins, the stern tone of his voice cracking through the cold air. The woman in question raises her head, looking up at him with alarm. With her attention ensured, he continues with strict interrogation, "What–"

The time to say something further is snatched away from Marcus as the doctor suddenly grabs him by the front of his coat, forcefully pulling him down onto the snow next to her. A muffled sound, similar to his body meeting the white mass on the ground, resonates behind him.

"Watch out," Abby remarks, watching the broken snowball slide off the tent material. "She's an incredibly good shot."

 _Well, you're not,_ Marcus wants to retort, absolutely irritated by the absurdity of the situation. Instead, he crouches on his knees next to the person having forced him into this particular position, whose eyes are currently fixed on the white field stretching beyond the crates.

"Abby, what are you doing? This is childish. You're not childish," he reasons, feeling the need to follow her gaze. Raven seems to have found a new friend in the snow – the opponent is nowhere to be seen.

"I know. But she forced my hand, Marcus. She started it," Abby snaps, and when Marcus looks into the depths of her brown eyes, he sees that this woman indeed means _business._

"Are you serious? You're impairing the people's work–"

"I don't see how. _She forced my hand._ This," his friend quickly crafts a snowball with her gloved hands and holds it up right up to his nose, "is _justice_. Watch me."

Incredulous at seeing the very definition of _stubborn_ standing in front of him, he _does_ watch Abby as she tries to make out even the slightest movement in the snow, her frosty weapon held in a tight grip above her lap. (While waiting, Marcus catches her sniff multiple times, and he can't decide whether the reason is the cold or the effort it takes to defend her pride and very dignity.)

Abby never gets to throw her snowball. Marcus watches on, helplessly, as a mass of snow infiltrates the crown of her head, making her close her eyes in furious frustration. He has to suppress a chuckle – the end of this fight has come earlier than expected, against Abby's favour. Not that he likes to see her suffer defeat (their arguments are an exception, of course), but a lesson remains a lesson.

"Gotcha!" Raven calls out (unnecessarily, since she's standing right behind them in front of the entrance to medical), grinning from ear to ear. She looks like she's just won the best prize Earth has to offer. "Jackson betrayed you. Sorry, Griffin, but you really suck at this game."

Marcus hears the sound of scrambling inside the tent, accompanied by the clashing of metal and a heavy thud. _Poor man. Abby will destroy him._ His suspicions are likely correct, judging by the raging inferno in the doctor's brown orbs.

"One extra hour of work today, Raven. No objections," he adds as he sees the protest well up inside the young woman opposite him. Raven, knowing she can't win _this_ , lets out something akin to a growl and turns around, slumping through the snow, the weight of his words having dampened her winner spirit. Marcus thinks he hears something like " _buzzkill"_ escape her mouth, but decides to let it slide.

"You shouldn't be so harsh on her," Abby speaks up, and his head swivels over only to lock eyes with her dead serious ones. Her hair is dripping wet from the melted snow, her nose is running and he's trying to discern whether she is truly serious about this yet again (because _he_ has _serious_ concerns about her being out of her mind).

A moment after, she offers an explanation at seeing the doubt in her friend's eyes.

"Only I can do that."

She says it like it's the most natural thing in the world. Marcus can't help but release a short laugh, and Abby allows a sly smile to overcome her lips. The doctor's fondness, albeit forceful sometimes, of the other woman is as clear and bright as the light of the day. Nevertheless, he sobers up quickly, seeing the need to proceed logically.

"I would give you an extra hour, too, if you didn't already look you're going to be sick. You _did_ delay people from getting to where they needed to be. Instead… Would you care to join me this evening?" Marcus coughs lightly and puffs out his chest to let any onlookers know he has control over the situation. "As a punishment, we'll talk."

Abby lets out a delighted laugh; it lets his ears smile and warmth cover his freezing skin.

"Talking to you is hardly a punishment, Marcus."

* * *

Shortly before sunset, Abby finds herself seated on the couch inside Marcus's room, a fluffy blanket draped over her body up to her abdomen and a steaming mug of tea in her naked hands. (In hindsight, she thinks she should resort to drinking more of it; tea sliding down your throat is a wonderful feeling.) Opposing the great joys of tea, there's her health: She seems to have caught cold today (which is no surprise, really), though she hasn't let anyone talk to her about her sickly appearance but Marcus. (She lashed out at Jackson not to, efficiently shutting him up by holding his misdeed and cooperation with Raven against him.)

"And now you're _sick_ ," Marcus starts, bending down to rummage through the drawers of his nighttable in search of tissues (Abby has emptied her supply), "because of Raven and the _fun_ you two have had."

Theoretically, she knows he only wants to help her. Still, she supposes it's a good thing he can't see her rolling her eyes.

"Don't talk like you hate fun. I know you don't."

"Of course I don't." As Marcus walks over to her, successfully having found a pack of tissues (he doesn't tell her it's his last one), she can plainly see he's only _pretending_ not to be insulted. His face is set in an irritated frown – Abby figures she has just thrown a metaphorical snowball at him. She gives him a quick nod of thanks as she receives the tissues, momentarily setting the tea aside to clean her nose.

"You could have joined us," she remarks after she's done, mischief dancing a waltz in her voice.

"Your behaviour today is really at its worst today, isn't it?" She, to her dislike, can't detect whether he's being serious. His tone is painfully neutral. "If I had done that, I would have hardly appeared to be a respectable Chancellor. But then again, maybe I could have saved you from such a _melting_ defeat."

Abby's mouth falls open, corners almost imperceptibly quirked up – a physical representation of the mixture of shock and amusement in her mind. She knows Marcus means to be teasing (part of her is relieved, too), but she could never let herself be denigrated like that. _Least_ of all by Chancellor Marcus Kane. Least of all by her closest friend. (He knows her too well. She enjoys it. Their arguments are an exception, of course.)

"I don't need a knight in shining armour, thank you not at all!"

Marcus settles down on the couch next to her without a comment, smile on his lips and book in his hands. Abby, involuntarily (or not?), notices the way the light of the lamps reflects off his beard, making the parts of grey look like gallant silver. She notices, albeit his eyes are averted and fixed on the first page, the way his brown irises look like chocolate (albeit she has only seen the candy a few times down on Earth), they way his mere _eyes_ make her mouth go completely _dry_ , despite the tea she has sipped a few seconds ago. Abby focusses her gaze on the inside of her mug, briefly swallowing. Either she's about to do something very brave or something very stupid. (She supposes there's little difference between the two.)

"...Though I don't mind your presence."

Out of the corner of her eye she perceives Marcus's head shoot up and examine her from the side. Abby can literally feel the surprise and curiosity radiating off his whole body.

"What was that?" he probes, sounding genuinely confused. Has he listened to her at all?

"I need _you_ ," Abby clarifies, sounding somewhat frustrated, still avoiding his scrutinizing gaze by being very interested in her tea. She lightly shrugs, partly to relieve herself of the weight she has put on her own shoulders just now, partly because she doesn't know what else to do. The doctor has always been a blunt woman, but that bluntness is usually followed by firm _confidence_ , which seems to have abandoned her just now – in a technically emotional moment. Abby's lack of emotional intelligence is a noticeable hole in her usually strong set of skills, and now, it _shows._

Her words are nothing but true, though they involve implications… Does Marcus sense them? Has he sensed how much he means to her so far? If he hasn't, and if he _has_ , how will he _react_ –

"I need you, too," he declares, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

In a way, it is.

Nothing more of importance is uttered for the rest of the evening. Marcus goes back to reading his book, although his legs are covered by the same blanket as Abby's on his second go, which results in feet bumping against each other several times and, kind of awkward and embarrassed, smiles. Abby goes on drinking her tea, watching Marcus reading from time to time, relishing the quiet and calm of the room. Once the mug is empty, she continues to be warmed by the body next to her, though it is a few inches away. Lamentable, really.

She's sure, somehow, that they'll cover those inches in time. (Eventually, Marcus Kane will thank her for her _bad behaviour_.)


	4. Haze

**4: Haze**

 **Set after 3x08.**

On the day of his funeral, the air is opalescent and Abby feels like her time on Earth has been nothing short of a haze.

There has been an obstreperous fog covering her eyes ever since Pike pronounced Marcus Kane dead. Executed for treason. Treason with the ultimate aim of peace.

Now, the hope for peace, along with Abby's soulmate, is gone.

It doesn't come as a surprise to her when her eyes don't work like they're supposed to. It wouldn't be a surprise if her visual impairment turned out to be a repercussion of her declining mental health, either. She doesn't know for sure whether it's possible, from a purely biological view, but surprises hardly are a surprise to Abby nowadays.

After all, albeit there is the constant possibility, she didn't _want_ to believe Marcus could be sentenced to death for trying to do the right thing. (She was lying straight to her own face the whole time, that she knows now. Marcus tried to float her as well for _trying to do the right thing_ – every rebel's life depends on the leader's morals and extent of tolerance. Pike is a rotten apple in both criteria.)

He made Abby love him. Marcus made her let him in. Now, his fate resembles Jake's, and Abby has to face life alone a second go.

Perhaps, Pike is not the only rotten apple. (They lusted for her, took a bite. She poisoned them, killed them. The apple rots on… Hopefully, it's so rotten already no hungry mouth dares approach it anymore.)

Perhaps, the fog around her is the ghosts of the people she has killed.

The funeral isn't private, but less than half of Arkadia attends it. Abby catches Raven and Jackson's faces through the fog, and a painful pang of gratitude pierces her heart. She doesn't dare look into anybody's eyes while they cover Marcus's body with dirt – the absence of his brown orbs is already beginning to destroy her from within.

Since dropping to the ground, he was, more or less, always by her side. He was the one constant when they were searching for her daughter, and continued to be while other people – like Clarke – came and went at will. He made her feel appreciated. It was like saying " _Thank you for being there"_ by being there for _her_ in return. Abby long ago decided she needed to treasure this, needed to treasure _him_ in her heart, though she did so in secret.

She gave him the key to the treasure chest when kissing him goodbye. And right now, as her treasure lies in the earth, he pulls her heart down with him.

 _In peace may you leave this shore_

 _In love may you find the next_

 _Safe passage on your travels_

 _Until our final journey to the ground_

 _May we meet again_

Abby whispers the Prayer again and again, stubbornly refusing to take her eyes off Pike. The fake pity in his eyes makes her want to vomit even _more_ and adds to the desire to shoot his chest open. Her hands, folded in front of her abdomen, begin to cramp achingly – she doesn't trust herself not to do anything stupid, and she needs the pain to remember Marcus wouldn't have wanted her to, either.

So she goes on with the Prayer, quietly, over and over, into the night, until she's alone in her quarters, where the whispered words crack and yield to tears filled with love and the grief that comes with it.

...

"Abby?"

Her vision is blurry and black. She's disoriented, lost.

"Abby..."

Her vision is blurry. She's disoriented. She's still crying.

"...Come on, wake up..."

Something strong and warm encircles her upper body, and her breath hitches as she realizes who that voice belongs, who _that arm_ belongs to. She opens her eyes in a split second, but her image of the world is still _so blurry_ , so she quickly moves her unhindered hand to sloppily wipe the tears away. It doesn't take long for her to realize her lips are quivering, trembling… just like the rest of her body.

"It was just a dream. I'm here, with you." Marcus's mild breath brushes the tip of her ear, and it feels so _familiar_ Abby wants to start crying all over again (this isn't the first time she has dreamt of his death, and it's frustrating, and he _knows_ – it's the same to him). Instead, she grimaces with painful relief at having escaped the prison that was tonight's nightmare and grips his arm tighter to her chest.

"I know," she whispers (she wants to appear strong, _always_ , yet her voice cracks– but she continues – there is no shame to be had in front of the other half of her soul). "Thank you."

The key is safe in his hands.


End file.
